


At least then I could be bitter

by vonherder



Series: I'll wait for the day when I get home [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Also I made up a baddie, Angst, Background Character Death, Bruce Feels, Bullying, But he won't admit it, Character Death Fix, Clint Feels, Dad!Nick Fury, F/M, Gen, Gun Violence, I like to hurt Nick Fury, Loki Feels, M/M, Mangst, Nick Fury Almost Dies Constantly, Nick Fury Continues To Swear, Nick Fury Feels, Nick Fury Swears, Nick Fury Swears like a twelve year-old who just discovered the f-word, Nick Fury Wants To Be A Part Of Their Family, Nick Fury swears a lot, Protective Fury, Robots, TW: Mentions of suicide/suicidal thought, Thor feels that will be expanded upon later, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Daddy Issues, Violence, and drop him from high places, and has no name, and shoot him, drugged Natasha, green cocoa, so bear with me on that, somewhat graphic description of injuries, suicide ideation, that are after Loki, weary sighing, who is off screen 94 percent of the time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-12
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2017-12-08 06:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vonherder/pseuds/vonherder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Nick allowed himself a small smile and watched the strange little family rejoice. He had had his moment and more would certainly follow. But, this was their time now and they didn’t need him. </i><br/>In which Nick Fury would do anything to take care of his team, up to and including giving really good hugs, making really good cocoa and getting really shot. A lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this prompt: "Fury wants to be part of the family" http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/15292.html?thread=32866492#t32866492  
> And also this prompt: "Fury goes into Mama Bear Mode" http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/15292.html?thread=32816060#t32816060  
> (Though, mostly the first prompt.. My angst got away from me..)
> 
> Title is from the song 'Fabulous' by Dan Mangan
> 
> EDIT 7/11/15: I've started editing and rewriting bits of this story as I try to get myself out of the corner I managed to write myself into..

Crisis had been averted, the Avengers were safe and secure and everything was right in the world. Right and good, and everything would be until he had to wake once more and save the day.

Nick stripped off his heavy leather jacket, hung it on the hook by the door as he toed off his boots. The house was silent, just as he had left it all those months ago. As he slowly made his way through the kitchen, he drug his fingertips over the counter top, drawing lines in the thin layer of dust. Had it really been so long since he last entered his own home? Christ, was this really what he called home; a darkened, empty house on a shady suburban lane, surrounded by families and kids and weekend barbeques? This wasn’t his home, not really. He didn’t belong here either.

The display on the microwave blinked a row of zeros at him. The coffee machine and oven both echoed the same sentiment.

He shook his head and moved through the silent, still house to sink heavily down onto the couch with a weary sigh. He'd probably sleep on the damned again. It wasn't all that much smaller than the cot in his apartment at SHIELD or the couch in his office, where he slept more often than not, but it was far more comfortable than either. His pillow was still even there from his last visit, still mashed down into the corner, only now covered with a thin layer of dust. How many months ago was that? Two? Three, maybe? Hell, he had no idea. 

Distantly, he could hear his phone buzzing again in his jacket pocket. He thought about ignoring it. It had been doing that since he had left the Tower, and he hadn't once felt the need to even glance at it. If it were truly important, whoever it was would have other ways to contact him. Eventually it would stop. It always stopped.

He shook his head and rose stiffly, one hand pressed to the stitches along his side and the other tugging the pillow along with him, and headed toward the stairs. Maybe his bed would be a better idea after all. He might not be able to hear the incessant buzzing from there. 

Under him the stairs creaked from months, maybe years, of disuse and neglect. They whined and groaned and protested with each slow step that he took. 

At the top of the stairs, as he took his final step up, something caught on his ankle; something that briefly protested, something that clicked audibly and then released. Over the _click-click-click_ of the timer, he could hear his phone buzzing away again. He stumbled back, practically falling down the stairs, as he ran for the door.

_Click-click-click._

He ripped the jacket away from the wall as he ran past and burst out the door as quick as he was able.

_Click-click._

He dug the phone from his jacket pocket, fumbling to answer.

_Click._

The phone went still in his hands. The ground shook with a sudden, angry crash and he felt fire at his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is a thing that happened. It is a thing comprised almost entirely of weary sighs, profanity and mangst—I cannot actually quantify the sheer amount of weary sighing involved here. And I hurt Fury. A lot. Like, so much. I shoot him a lot. And drop him from high places. And I let Natasha beat him up. A bit. But don’t worry. I crush him with boulders after that. But then I give him hugs. And then I scar him for life. Oh, and I obviously just blew him up... 
> 
> I will add more ~~ridiculous~~ tags as they come up. And warnings. And pairings. Um, yeah... Watch out for those.. A couple of those are just... Yeah. *ahem*
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Take the tags away from me. I don't deserve them...~~


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so that we're all aware here... I suffer from Feels. It is a terrible thing, and the only way I've found to treat my Feels is to inflict them upon unsuspecting and undeserving fictional characters. Consider yourselves warned.

Thursdays were awful and often days full of unwelcome surprises. They were filled with surprise attacks from Doom and HYDRA. Surprise calls from the World Security Council. Surprise, SHIELD headquarters is completely out of the decent coffee. Surprise, punches from super-soldiers hurt like all fucking hell.

Surprise, Phil isn't really dead.

The ground tipped and swayed for a moment as Nick Fury stiffly hauled himself off of the floor. He felt blood dribbling over his lip, but didn't make any sort of move to stop it. Rogers' hands crumpled the edge of his desk as he loomed over Nick, seething, red-faced and hollering at the top of his lungs. Fury didn't really catch much after the initial accusation of, ‘Phil is _alive_?!’ The punch had come swiftly after.

He straightened himself up and moved to round the desk. Numb and unbelieving, he asked, “Where is he?”

“Why is that any business of yours?” Steve demanded as he grabbed Nick by the throat and practically threw him up against the wall. 

He coughed and took a few seconds to compose himself before meeting the full might of Steve's glare head-on as he shoved the man back as hard as he could. “With all due respect, _Captain_ ,” he said, lowly, straightening out his jacket, “I've only just been informed that my friend is alive. Forgive me for having better things to do than stand here and be accused of this bullshit. Now, I'll ask again. _Where is he_?”

Steve retreated slightly, though his glare didn't lose any of its heat, “You didn't know? You expect me to actually believe that?”

Nick matched his glare, “I was there, Captain. I was right there when it was called. I fucking _watched_ the best man I’ve ever known die,” he snarled. “Now you fucking tell me that he's _alive_ , that he's still here, that what I watched was some kind of farce? You best tell me where he is, boy. I am not in the mood to answer some stupid-ass question like that.”

Steve's shoulders lowered slightly, some of the rage draining from him. “He's at the Tower,” he said and took a step back, still giving Nick a dubious look. “Natasha called to tell me, not ten minutes ago.” 

Nick gave him a brusque nod and spun away, hurrying out of his office, paying no mind to the heavy footfalls behind him as he rushed through the building. Hell, he hardly realized he was at his car until Steve had unceremoniously yanked the keys from his hand. 

“Let me have those," he muttered, only to stiffen and cast a startled, uneasy glance toward Nick’s hand. “Um, sir?”

He looked down at his own hand and frowned. He took a steadying breath as he pulled his hand away from his hip and grit his teeth to keep from snapping at the other man again. He had nearly pulled a fucking gun on Captain _fucking_ America, of all fucking things to do. Stiffly, he moved to the passenger side and ground out, “Don’t you dare wreck this car.”

Steve sagged in relief and nodded earnestly as he slid into the driver’s seat with a quite murmur of, “Thank you for not shooting me, sir.”

He watched Steve, with his slumped shoulders and worried, knit brows. The man was a gigantic damn puppy, and Nick couldn’t very well yell at him. But he would be damned if he apologized first—that hit had hurt like hell, anyway, and he had earned this pass on politeness. “Don’t make me regret it,” he said, instead.

“I’ll do my best,” Steve said, sincerely, as he started the car.

Nick didn’t spare him another glance, already feeling guilty enough as it was, and he didn’t need the other man’s kicked puppy impression to add any more to that. Instead, he stared silently out the window, unfocused and unthinking, as they sped toward the tower. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to expect, what he was supposed to think, what he was supposed to do once they arrived. He hadn't thought he would ever need to plan for this particular eventuality. After planning for the funeral, he's sort of stopped planning for anything that had to do with Phil. 

He continued to think circled around himself, so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t actually realize they had arrived until Steve coughed, quietly, next to him. 

“Are you ready?” he asked, seemingly with the all patience in the world.

Nick nodded and stepped out of the car. He wondered, briefly, how many times the man had asked that question, how long they had been parked there. He wondered how long Steve would have sat there, just waiting for Nick to make a move, to come out of his head.

As he followed the soldier into the elevator, he tried his damnedest not to blink, not wanting to see any more of the flashes of blood that always came with the darkness. He'd relived it almost every day since it happened, the pain and fear and the darkening of Phil’s eyes—he's had enough of those thoughts and dreams and memories to last a lifetime and then some. The doors dinged and opened and Nick was suddenly at a loss, floundering on the threshold. He could hear voices and laughter and god _damn_ if that didn’t frighten him. Five months he’d been missing that gentle laugh and unassuming voice. Five months he’s been waking up, sweating and shaking, from terrors that had started out just like this. For five months his friend had been _dead_.

Nick steeled himself, held himself a little straighter as he stepped out of the elevator, only to freeze in place once more. They were there, laughing and smiling together, Bruce, Thor, Natasha and Clint and _Phil_. 

He could feel Steve behind him, tense and waiting, but he didn’t dare move further. Because this, Phil here and _alive_ , couldn’t possibly be real, couldn’t possibly be anything more than a trick or dream or another goddamned nightmare come to life in terrifying technicolor. He didn’t know if he could handle another nightmare, if he could watch Phil die one more goddamned time. 

Bruce noticed him first, warm brown eyes full of confusion as they landed on Nick’s still form. Clint followed his gaze, grin still in place as he tugged excitedly on Phil’s shoulder. Natasha whispered something and nodded toward the elevator, her clever green eyes bright and knowing. Thor laughed, loud and clear and jolly as ever, and physically spun the agent around, making him chuckle and stumble. 

Finally-- _finally_ \--Phil looked up.

The fucker had the nerve to actually _smile_ at him.

Nick growled and strode forward to envelope the man in a crushingly tight hug, nearly pulling the man off of his feet, “You fucking asshole.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil whispered emphatically, hugging back with all of his strength. 

“You’re fucking fired, do you hear me? Fired,” Nick gripped tightly at the man’s back, hands fisted roughly in the fabric of his jacket. He'd finally begun to accept that his friend was dead, that Phil was well and truly gone and never going to come back, so to hold him close, to feel the man alive and _breathing_ against him was almost more than he could take. “You let me think you were dead.”

“I’m so _sorry_ ,” Phil said, again, smoothing his hands up and down Nick’s back. “I had to, you know that I did.”

“Bullshit,” Nick growled, pushed him back and shook him by the lapels of his jacket. “You didn’t have to do this to anyone, jackass. You didn’t have to put _any_ of us through this.”

Phil shook his head, “I did what I had to do.”

Nick shook him again, “What you _thought_ you had to do, asshole.”

“And I stand by it,” Phil said, vehemently, and clasped Nick’s face between his hands. He brought their foreheads together, “You did the same, asshole. I saw the security footage. Don’t you dare think you’re the only one allowed to _push_ like that.”

Nick growled again, “God _damn_ it, you are so fucking fired.” 

“It was a pleasure working with you, sir,” Phil said with a sharp grin, though his eyes remained soft and kind.

Nick shook his head and huffed out a laugh. He relaxed, finally, enough to let go of Phil’s jacket, but he didn’t back away. “I’m still pissed at you, Cheese,” he said, and hugged Phil close once more. “I’m going to be for a long damn time.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Phil said, relaxing as well, and tucked his face into Nick’s shoulder once more. “I’m sorry, I really am. But it had to be done.”

“You could have told me,” he sighed out, heavily, and flicked Phil’s ear. “You _should_ have told me.”

Phil just shook his head and whispered, barely audible, “You needed the push.”

Nick held the man just a little bit tighter before he finally let go and backed away. Phil looked a little pale, a little thin, but he was _alive_ and that was more than enough for Nick. It had to be enough.

Phil gently tapped Nick’s chin, “You’re bleeding.”

“An accident,” Nick said, firmly, wiping at the corner of his mouth. He could practically _hear_ Steve blushing in shame behind them. “You look pretty good for a dead man.”

Phil chuckled to hide his wince.

And then, just like that, they were swept up in hurricane Thor. “Come, friends!” he boomed, firmly guiding them toward the couch in the middle of the room. “We have much to discuss.”

And, somewhere between the firm hand slamming down on his shoulder and the rest of them erupting into laughter and conversation, Nick got lost. In a matter of seconds there was half a room and five superheroes between he and Phil, all of them laughing and talking over and at each other like they’d all been doing when he’d arrived. 

He was still floundering, searching for the footing to make his way toward them. He was lost, completely.

Footsteps sounded from further into the apartment, accompanied by indignant complaints. Tony was positively _whining_ as he entered the room. He glowered up at the ceiling like a petulant child, “J, I don’t _understand_. Can’t this wait? Are you trying to feed me? Is that what this is about? Because I have food down there, and you know it.”

“ _If you would stop complaining for just a moment_ ,” JARVIS said, sounding every bit the harassed parent, “ _I am certain that Agent Coulson will be able to explain._ ”

Tony froze, eyes wide. He gulped and paled the slightest bit, “What.”

“ _If you would divert you attention to the couch_ ,” JARVIS practically _sighed_.

Tony whipped his head toward them and swallowed thickly. He sucked in a short breath, “Agent?”

The man in question stood and gave a kind smile.

Nick watched on as the billionaire rushed forward, nearly bowling the other man over in his haste. 

“You son of a bitch,” Tony ground out with an almost hysterical laugh. “What the _hell_ were you thinking, huh?”

Nick allowed himself a small smile and watched the strange little family rejoice. As Thor swept forward to once more wrap his arms tight around his friends, Nick headed quietly for the elevator. He had had his moment and more would certainly follow before the week was out. But, this was their time now and they didn’t need him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is all that I have for the moment.. Chapter 2 is empty as of yet, so you won't see it for awhile. (I'll probably find something else to post between now and then, though, so...) 
> 
> But, in case you noticed, I made this part of a series.. So, there is another bit that I will be working on that will take place between the Prologue and Epilogue (from the point of view of everyone else). I was going to be posting it as part of this, but then I thought better of it and am making it it's own story.. However, it might go faster than this? So, would it be confusing to post it as I finish each bit while I'm still working on this? Or should I wait and do so after this is over and done? On the one hand I won't be tempted to revise it seven million times until it scarcely resembles the original idea, but on the other I can post it all at once at the end and there won't be a ton of waiting involved? Or maybe just compile it all and post it before I post the Epilogue?


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hi. I did a thing again.
> 
> This isn't going to be worth the wait, so sorry for that. But it made me laugh writing it so its got that going for it.
> 
> Hopefully it is coherent, I'm a little sleep drunk.

The thing of it was, Phil hadn't answered his phone in three days.

Really, Nick knew he had no reason to complain; Phil was alive and well and up and working again. One late report was no reason to be angry. Except that it had been three days and he had seen neither hair nor hide of the man. Two agents were in critical condition after a freak training accident, three were lost somewhere between Cairo and London, and he hadn't been told, until two days after the fact, that agents at the Marrakcsh base were being taken out one at a time and Phil hadn't answered his phone in three long damn days. 

Nick wasn't complaining, he was _pissed_.

In the elevator, he tapped his foot impatiently.

“ _How might I be of assistance, Director_?” JARVIS politely asked.

Nick leaned back against the wall, arms crossed his arms over his chest, “I need to speak with Agent Coulson. Any chance he's in?”

“ _Indeed he is_ ,” he said, and the elevator began to move. There was a slight pause before, “ _Would it inconvenience you terribly, Director, to stop by Mr. Stark’s lab_?”

He sighed and his frown deepened, “Is it absolutely necessary?”

Another pause, then, “ _No. Not necessary. But certainly appreciated._ ”

Nick knew what a please sounded like when he heard one. Stark must have been far more drunk than usual, “Alright, JARVIS.” The elevator slowed to a stop, then began moving again, headed down this time to the garage-level workshop. Or, so he assumed. He'd never actually been allowed there, but he chose not to dwell on it and instead asked, “Just how much has he had to drink?”

“ _Mr. Stark has nearly exhausted his ‘_ emergency _’ supply of whisky_ ,” JARVIS said, disapproval quite clear in his tone. “ _In that lab._ ”

He knew what the ‘emergency’ stash meant; it was the nasty shit, the cheap shit, the, ‘I need to get too drunk to stand, to see, to think, and I need it _now_ ’ shit. For a few brief seconds, he wondered if Tony's stash would echo his own, or if the billionaire's idea of cheap was Nick's idea of special, “How long has he been down here?” 

“ _Three hours and fifty-seven minutes, Director. I might add that Mr. Stark has not slept in approximately 63 hours_ ,” JARVIS answered. “ _There is a couch in the southern corner of the lab, as well as a pillow and blanket_.” 

“I’ll do my best, JARVIS.”

“ _Thank you._ ”

Fury squared his shoulders and stepped out of the elevator as the steel doors slid shut behind him and the glass slid open in front. The workshop was near silent. Nothing of the loud, thrashing guitars that he had expected. Just cool quiet and the soft clink of glass on concrete.

“Stark? Where are you?” he called out, stepping into the vast room. Dummy whirred at him quietly in the corner, but didn't make any sort of move to come forward. He got no answer, only another echo of a bottle on concrete, this time accompanied by a soft sniffle. He followed the sound and moved further into the lab, toward the cars. He found Tony, looking miserable, between the Benz and the Maserati, a small collection of empty beer bottles at his side. 

Tony looked up, eyes swollen and red, and took another swig from the bottle in his hand. He wiped his wet cheeks on his sleeve and sniffled again, “Who told on me?”

“ _I did, sir._ ”

Tony sniffed and glared vaguely up at the ceiling, “Thought I told you not to tell anybody.”

“ _If you recall, sir, you told me not to tell the rest of the team_ ,” JARVIS said, far more gentle than Nick had ever heard. 

Tony shifted his bleary gaze toward Nick once more, “An' what? You want something?”

Nick shook his head and crouched down in front of the drunken man, fighting the urge to reach out and comfort him, “Just an explanation. But, I can go without if you hand me the bottle.”

“Not a chance, Nicky,” he slurred, taking another long swig. 

“Then I think you had better start talking, Stark.”

Tony glared for a moment before slumping back. He squeezed his eyes shut and thunked his head back against the car door once before casting a dark glare up at him again, tears welling in his eyes. His lip trembled the slightest bit as he shook his head, “I don't want to be Howard.”

Nick frowned, “Nobody's asking you to be.”

“Cap is,” Tony mumbled into the bottle, taking another long pull. He looked away, fiddling with a hole singed into his jeans, “He told me t'be more like my dad. I should be, though. Right? Be more like 'im? He was a great man.”

Nick shook his head, “You're right; Howard Stark was a great man.” He winced internally at Tony's flinch and gently took Tony's chin in his hand, lifting his face back up, “A loud, insubordinate, brilliant, fiercely loyal _asshole_ , but a great man, and I think the two of you couldn't possibly be more alike than you already are.” He felt Tony's chin tremble and tried to soften both his gaze and his voice, “Your father loved you, he really did, but he was an awful excuse for a parent. Don't _ever_ think that you need to be more like him.”

Tony's head drooped slightly when his chin was released, “But, Cap said—”

“Cap can fuck off for the moment,” Nick said, firmly, hoping to anyone willing to listen that Phil would never know that those words had come out of his mouth. Ever. “He knew Howard, and knew him well, but he never met your father; the man he remembers was gone the minute that plane went down. Cap doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about right now, so let's just leave him out of this. Okay?”

The corners of Tony's lips twitched upward the slightest bit, “'Kay.”

Nick gave a nodded and sat himself down at Tony's side, “I've got all the time in the world, Stark. If you still need to talk.” He gently bumped his shoulder against the drunken man's, relishing in the fact that Tony didn't shift away, and instead leaned into the touch, “I'm not going anywhere.”

Eventually, Tony passed the bottle to Nick and asked, “Do I have the right to hate dad? Even if he loved me?” 

“Yes,” he said, taking a sip. Nick knew the taste well, had the same bottle sitting in his desk for those long evenings waiting for updates from medical on which ever stupid-ass rookie got themselves shot that day. He took another sip, longer this time, and set the bottle aside. “His loving you doesn't negate everything that you went through, it doesn't just erase all that he said and did and didn't do. You can't just nullify a shitty past because one man cared.”

“You sure?” Tony asked through a yawn, slumping against Nick's side. 

“I’m sure.”

Tony looked up and gave him a searching look, his eyes a little glassy and unfocused. When he seemed to have found whatever it was he was looking for, he nodded and relaxed a little more, leaning further into Nick's side, “If y'sure.”

Nick just nodded and slipped an arm around Tony's shoulders, pulling him closer, content to sit in the quiet. 

He woke later, stiff and cold, to find You hovering above them, whirring quietly. The bot startled and scurried away when Nick shifted uncomfortably against the cold concrete floor. He smiled when he realized that the empty bottles had been cleared away.

He stood, stiff and sore, and hauled Tony into his arms, lugging the softly snoring genius toward the couch in the corner, carefully side-stepping tables and experiments scattered throughout the room. As gently as he could, he set Tony down on the battered couch, though not gentle enough, apparently, to avoid waking him.

“S'happenin'?” Tony asked, turning his face into the soft worn pillow beneath his cheek.

“Thought you could use somewhere more comfortable to sleep,” Nick said, throwing the blanket over him. 

He mumbled a quiet, “'Kay,” and turned onto his side.

Nick smiled, reaching out to ruffle Tony's messy hair, only to still and pull away before he could do so. It wasn't really his place to do so, anyway. 

Tony relaxed into the cushions, “Hey, Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Tony said, sleepily nuzzling into the pillow. “You'd make a good dad.” There were a few seconds of peaceful quiet before Tony drew in a sudden breath and flopped onto his back, staring up at Nick with wide eyes and a manic grin, “I have the most best idea _ever_!”

“I don't doubt it,” Nick fought a smile and pushed him back down with a firm hand to his shoulder as he tried to sit up. “Tell me about it tomorrow.”

“No! You don't understand,” Tony exclaimed, grabbing at Nick's sleeve with clumsy hands. “You can be my new dad!”

Nick paused, uncomfortably unsure of where the conversation could possibly go from there.

Tony, though, continued undeterred, “I mean, my dad was kind of a dick, you know? And, I don't have to call you _dad_ or anything, I won't embarrass you in public or at SHIELD or in front of the 'Vengers. It doesn't even have t'mean anything, but, I mean, next time Cap says I should be more like my dad, then I can at least pretend that I have a dad that isn't Howard and that I have a dad that's good and likes me and that I can be proud t'be like,” Tony rambled, staring up at Nick, wonderfully, childishly, earnest. He tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down once more, “You don't even need to put in any effort! How cool is that! I mean, I'm already a grown up an’ everything. Just, ya know, honorary dad. If you want?”

Nick watched on as Tony became increasingly unsure, looking impossibly young and vulnerable, and sighed, defeated. “If you really think that's a good idea,” he began, clasping Tony's fumbling hand in his own, “then I'd be honoured to call you my son.”

Tony's face lit up like a child that had just found fucking Atlantis and all the unicorns and dinosaurs were there waiting for him with cake and cookies, “D'you really mean it?”

“Of course,” Nick allowed himself to grin down at him. "But you have to go to sleep now, alright? We can talk more tomorrow."

Tony gave a wobbly nod and settled back down with a wide yawn, "G'night."

Nick straightened and began to move away when a triumphant cry stopped him.

“Wait! You forgot something!” Tony cried out, reaching out with grabbing hands, frantically willing Nick to come closer once more. “Dads are s'pposed to give hugs, right? Like, that's a thing that’s s'pposed to happen?”

Nick fought down his grin and gave a grave nod, “I couldn't agree more.” He strode forward and knelt next to the couch once more, pulling Tony into a tight embrace. He cradled the back of Tony's head on one hand and wrapped his other arm tight around his waist, nearly pulling him off of the couch. 

Tony sank into the hug with a small sound, his own arms winding loosely around Nick's shoulders. “You give nice hugs,” he whispered where his face was mashed into Nick's clavicle. “Should do this more often.”

“Have your people contact my people, we'll get it on the calendar.”

Tony made a happy sound into his neck and pulled back, grinning. He flopped back onto the couch, already seemingly half asleep, “Thanks.”

Nick just smiled and pulled the blanket back up over him, “You actually going to sleep now?”

He nodded, snuggling down into the cushions, “G'Night, dad.” He gave a snort and a giggle, “ _Dad_!”

“Good night, Tony,” he said and finally let himself give into the urge to ruffle the younger man's hair. “Sleep well.”

He slowly, carefully, made his way back out through the maze of tables and benches and half-finished projects that looked as if they might explode at the slightest brush. He made his way back to the elevator, steadily growing more tense as he went.

“Tell me, JARVIS. Is the good Captain in?” he asked, once the elevator doors had closed.

“ _He is, Director. Capitan Rogers is currently in the gym level. You will need to head straight and take the first left that you arrive at. He will be at the end of that hallway_ ,” JARVIS answered as the elevator began moving again. “ _Shall I let him know you wish to speak with him_?”

“No, no,” Nick ground out. “Let's just make it a surprise.”

“ _Very good, sir._.”

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

The ride was quick and for that he was thankful. Anymore time spent planning his rant and he would have been beyond angry at the prospect of facing the man. Nick had taken only a mere fifteen steps out of the elevator before he finally glanced up, stopped short and blinked a few times in confusion.

Before him, Phil seemed resigned to his fate, arms still crossed as they must have been when he had been hauled over Thor's broad shoulder. Nick could imagine the faint twitch to his left eye. They were moving away from him, neither speaking, toward what Nick assumed to be the gym, Thor with a bounce to his step and Phil tense and quite clearly annoyed where he hung. 

“You know what,” he said, turning back toward the elevator, completely and entirely done with everyone one in the whole damn tower, “I don't even care anymore.”

Behind him Phil hollered, “Get me down, sir! Now, please. Shoot him if you have to.”

In front of him the elevator doors slid open and Nick called over his shoulder, “Nah. That would just make him angry.”

“ _Sir_! You have to help me!”

The doors slid closed on Thor's rumbling laugh.

" _Another destination, Director_?"

He sighed and sagged back against the wall. Mostly he just wanted to check up on Tony, make certain that the man was still safe and happy. He wanted another damnable hug, as much as he loathed to admit it. He wanted to be dad for a little while longer. But, it was fine, the way he had left it was all fine.

Tony wouldn't remember in the morning, and that was fine. 

Nick could live with that; he'd managed to give the man some semblance of peace for a night and that would be enough. That had to be enough.

"Ground floor is fine, JARVIS. I'll be heading out now."

" _Of course_."

He nodded and relaxed back as the elevator began its final decent. He looked up at the ceiling, "You will tell me, won't you? If he needs anything?"

JARVIS' voice was gentle as the doors slid open, " _You have my word, Director._ "

Nick nodded patted the wall as he left, "Thanks."


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! I did it! Conquered the shooting and things a little bit maybe kinda not really but hey at least its something right?
> 
> This ended up being a little longer than I had intended when I started it this afternoon, though it is still pretty short. The next chapter will be pretty short, too. There are going to be at least 16 chapters here, so there are bound to be some itty bitty ones.
> 
> Please point out any tags that I forgot, I think I remembered everything but I never trust myself.

Nick followed close at Cap's heels, carefully shouldering his way through the chaotic rushing crowd. They might have been hostages, prisoners—Nick wasn't entirely certain; not one of them was shooting and they all seemed glad to see them, so he paid little mind. Ahead, Cap ducked into a room at his left and Nick hurried to follow.

Tony was out of his armour and working quickly at a bank of computers spanning most of the far wall. He and Cap were already trading theories as to what the facility was being used for, but neither of them seemed entirely sure. The intelligence they had received had been wrong, but nothing they had found thus far offered any sort of acceptable explanation. The facility didn't appear to have any sort of scientific labs, though it was filled with people in lab coats. The forces that had been waiting for them didn't have uniforms, didn't look like anyone that they'd faced in the past. Nick shook off his unease and took a moment to glance around the darkened space.

The room itself was sparse, save for the one wall lined with computers and machinery where Tony was frantically working away. A table and chairs laid upturned to the left of them, emptied and broken crates to the right. No cover, they were out in the open and short on ammunition. 

“How long?” Cap was asking.

“Three minutes. Maybe less,” Tony had control of the cameras now, could track the movements of those in the rest of the facility as he worked to save any and all information he could possibly get his hands on. He could tell how quickly they would have unwanted company and how far away help would be. “My count is thirty, all armed and we're still on our own.”

“Thor is close.”

Still typing away, Tony shook his head, “Coms are still down. Not enough time to fix them before the big bads get here.”

Cap nodded, “Be quick then.”

Tony huffed in annoyance, “Don't miss.”

Nick looked for some kind of cover, something to barricade the door, anything to increase the odds, but found nothing, “Where do you want me, Captain?”

He waved Nick back, “Stay back, cover Stark. Anyone makes it passed me, take them out. Otherwise keep the fire to minimum.”

He nodded, and placed himself between Tony and the door, “It's been a long day, Captain. Running out of bullets.”

He nodded grimly and faced forward, tense and ready for a fight. In the distance, over the crash of thunder and Hulk's destruction on the other end of the facility, the heavy footfalls were getting closer.

And then they were there, flooding through the doorway guns raised and Nick didn't have any more time to think or look for help. He had to buy Tony the time, had to keep him safe, had to have Cap's back. The first bullet to hit home passed through his left shoulder with a burn and Nick growled and shot the fucker right back.

In front of him, Cap was a flurry of movement. Nick wished that he could spare a few moment so that he could actually watch the man fight. They might all have made fun of Phil for being such a fanboy, but it was also Phil who constantly teased _him_. But then three more managed to break away and Nick was busy, trying to keep them from catching Cap off guard. They went down easy enough, but there seemed to be twice as many ready to take their place. The last of them barreled through the door and Nick kept firing.

“Ten o'clock, Cap,” he hollered over the din, taking out a few stragglers to his right. A moment of distraction.

The bullet slammed into his gut, knocking him back. Fire erupted in his belly, a burning ache that nearly sent him crashing to his knees. He growled and fired off another shot, taking the bastard out. 

Another hit, closer to his right hip this time and Nick staggered, cursing. The man was circling around behind Cap, and Nick fired. Except that it didn't hit, nothing did. He was out, no more bullets tucked away, no ace up his sleeve. 

Once the man stopped paying him any mind, Nick threw the gun down and staggered forward as quickly as he could. He had to take him out before he got to Cap's turned back.

Nick tackled him to the ground, relishing in the sharp crack of the man's skull on the concrete. But the fucker still struggled, jabbing out with harsh fists that came away slick with blood. Nick growled and gripped him by the throat, slamming him back down once, twice, until he'd stopped moving. Nick sat back and picked up the abandoned gun, lurching dizzily to his feet. He raised the gun, ready to take aim, but there was no need. Cap stepping over the limp forms shield in hand, threat neutralized. Nick sagged with relief, taking a step toward the door. 

Trying to, in any case. He stumbled to him knees, dizzy with blood loss. 

“Are you hit?” 

Nick nodded, trying and failing to push himself back up.

Cap cursed and moved closer, calling over his shoulder for Tony to get the coms working again, to get transport and a medical team ready and quick.

Nick shook his head, “I'm fine—”

“No,” Cap said, kneeling in front of him. “We're getting you out of here.”

Nick shook his head again, ready to speak but movement caught his eye. Over Cap's shoulder, he could see one of the rising again, gun raised and aimed at the back of Steve's head. 

“Fuck no,” he roared. He had enough time to see the startled fear in Steve's eyes as he hefted the gun once more. Nick fired once over Steve's shoulder, taking the fucker out with once bullet between the eyes.

Steve jumped back and spun in time to see the man fall. He swallowed and nodded, “Right.”

Nick huffed, tried to chuckle or laugh or both, but he couldn't. He could scarcely even breathe. The gun fell from his loosening grip and he sagged to the side, blood loss finally taking him. He knew he was falling as he did so, but there was no strength left to stop himself, no strength even to keep his eyes open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's that. I don't know how I feel about it yet. 
> 
> You'll notice, too, that I did a thing. A thing where, while he's fighting and leading and all, he'd Cap (his title, but stiff an affectionate nick name), but the instant he's in real, actual danger he's instantly Steve in Fury's mind. That is a thing that makes me happy, even if I wish I could have been more subtle about it. But whatever.
> 
> Also, Steve thinking that Nick is about to shoot him because call backs.
> 
> I'm just ready to get to chapter 5. It's mostly finished and it makes me happy. It's chapter 4 that is bugging me. If anyone has any helpful insights into Thor and Loki and possibly their fighting and junk that would be helpful. Very much so. Like, so helpful you don't even know. Thor doesn't really live in my head ~~mostly because I still haven't seen T:TDW because of work and pocketbook which doesn't really help much with the writing of him~~.
> 
> As always, point me at my spelling mistakes and junk. Any forgotten tags. Any questions about my choices or what have you. Insults and stuff. I welcome them all.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally didn't expect this chapter to happen. I was up all night thinking and tossing about ideas for the next (and hopefully final) installment of the _Cherry Chocolate_ verse, fully expecting to wake and be able to knock a fair bit of that out.
> 
> But then I drank some mead and had an idea and was off on this and managed to knock it out in absolutely no time at all. Which is a massive relief, considering the amount of trouble this chapter was for some reason giving me. So, I am just posting this without even trying to proof it because I'm just so excited that it actually happened. I'll edit it a bit later, or whatevs. Either way, I like this chapter way more than the last one just because of all the things that I can use to set up the later chapters and junk and I am to happy!

Nick was beginning to run out of patience. The robots got shot, fell, repaired themselves from the inside out and rose again, firing blasts of energy and heat at them all the while. 

They were tall things, spindly and wiring on top, sturdy and heavy as they moved down. Six long arms spun and swung, ended with sharp blades for close combat and capable of firing off blazing shots when forced to fight at a distance. They stood on stocky legs, heavy enough to keep them standing even when rocked by massive blows. Their heads a strange dome atop their bodies, giving them each a 360 view of everything happening around them if their quick reflexes were anything to go by.

 _Goddamn_ he just wanted one of them to go down and fucking stay.

To his right, the sound of crunching metal signaled another bot cut down by Thor. They dropped like flies around him, but for each crumpled heap that fell another, newly repaired, would rise to take it's place. Not that Thor really seemed to notice. Each time Nick chanced a glance at the man—though his strikes were accurate—his eyes and thoughts would be in the distance, focused on a blur of black and green and pure rage.

Loki fought with a fury, spinning and slicing and taking the bots down in quick succession. Occasionally he would spare enough time to swat an arrow out of the way or block a half-hearted blast from Tony as he flew past, but most all his concentration seemed to be in working his way through the crowd of bots surrounding him. Those twitching at his feet were broken and torn open and apart in varying ways. 

He was testing, trying to find whatever it was in each of them that allowed for them to continue to rise. 

Nick fired off a few rounds into the head of one as it tried to rise. Whatever was keeping the damned things going was buried deep in the bodies. Had to be, the things barely dented when shot, didn't rip apart with the force of Hawkeye's exploding arrows and most managed to somehow withstand mjolnir's blows. 

So he fired off a few more rounds and waited for Loki to find their weaknesses.

To his right, Thor roared and slammed mjolnir home, separating the legs from one of the damnable things. He could see Cap taking off heads and Hawkeye firing off arrows as quick as he was able. 

With Natasha off on a mission and Bruce consulting with Fitzsimmons somewhere in London, they were out numbered far worse than usual. And with Thor's concentration drifting, they were beginning to even look outmatched. 

Until Loki loosed a cry of victory as a bot fell, a gaping, sparking hole in it's chest. 

“Hawkeye, tell me you saw that,” he demanded, getting an affirmative in return. He listened as Clint described what to do, where to hit, and watched as each of them adapted. He smirked, pleased, as the bots began to fall all around them. 

A switch seemed to flip in the bots. Now that they were truly threatened, they began to fight to kill, to win, not just to wear them down long enough to complete their mission—one that seemed to be someone other than the Avengers.

With renewed vigour, the bots charged forth, surrounding and surging upon Loki. The rest of the team was left with only enough of the bots to keep them busy and distracted as the rest abandoned their skirmishes to descend on Loki. Those close to his person toppled and fell, but the rest fired off shots at a constant rate, leaving him to duck and block and dodge as he tried to gut those close enough to gut him. Now that they knew just where and how to strike, the bots fell and didn't rise, but there numbers were still great enough to keep them busy as Loki began to lose ground—a fact not lost on Thor. He roared and swung mjolnir, needing to break free of their swarm long enough to get to Loki, to help him, and it was all Nick could do to knock down those that were managing to stagger upright. 

Bullets wouldn't take them out, not completely, but he could pause them long enough, he could knock enough down to give Thor some time. Nick continued firing. 

A voice over the coms told him that more were coming up behind, and he spun in time to see one fiery blast glance off of whatever forcefield Loki had and come flying toward them, toward Thor.

Nick could see it in Loki’s eyes the instant he knew where that stray blast was headed, his green eyes widening in horror.

The decision was made and he was moving, running fast as he could manage toward the thunderer. Not one of the team had been hit by a blast, not one of them knew what destruction they were capable of administering. But the look of pure terror on Loki's face told him all he needed to know—that despite Thor being as indestructible as they came, the blast would surely do far more harm than any of them were prepared for. It had the power and strength to _kill_ him. 

Nick surged forward. Thor was in mid-air and coming down, hammer in mid-swing as thunder cracked all around, he had only a few moments. The instant Thor's feet were planted, it would be like crashing into a mountain and hoping for it to crumble. He had to catch Thor in the air, before he landed. That would be the only way to knock him out of the path of the blast.

A few more feet, one more breath, and Nick flung himself forward catching Thor in the gut and propelling them out of the way. Mostly. 

Fire slammed home against—and _through_ —his hip with enough force to knock him back and hurl him into the concrete. No time to think or fight or look for Thor and he hurtled and skidded across the street, tumbling and breaking along the way.

Pain, _fire_ , raged and bit through him as he crumpled into the dust and rubble, no more time to think or scream out as darkness took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this done, I have a great lead in for the start of what I have thus far for chapter 6, so I have that and chapter 5 switched in my story order and it works so much better. YES. I got shit on at work for an annoyingly extended period of time and my first chance to write and goodness happens!
> 
> YES. I'M GOING TO GO DRINK A BIT NOW AND TRY TO GET AS MUCH WRITTEN AS POSSIBLE TODAY.
> 
> Also, I got convinced to start a tumblr that I update less often than here http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hi. Look who should be working but decided to write instead. But I had some feelings.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~Still not the breakfast scene...~~
> 
>  
> 
> I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter but it is finally done, so I am posting it.

Nick woke slow and heavy, pain muted by drug or sleep or both. The room around him was bright, awash in a cold, white light. He could smell antiseptic and bleach and blood. 

Fucking hell, he hated hospitals.

For a few moments, he didn't shift or move. Just waited and listened. Footsteps outside the door, a gurney with a loose, squeaky wheel. Carefully, he looked around the room, but it was empty and bare and he was alone.

Before him, an illuminated light box took up most of the wall's length. Covered with x-rays showing off injuries no one could reliably be expected to recover from. A sternal fracture, a severe spinal fracture of L1 and L3. Left femur mostly splintered and shattered, right femur snapped in three places. A shattered patella. Right fibula and tibia twisted and shattered. Cracked and snapped left scapula, humerus and clavicle from where he must have hit the ground. The left side of his face—the zygomatic arch and supraorbital ridge—was littered with cracks and fractures from where he must have rolled across the concrete. A crack in the parietal bone and in his C4 and C5 vertebrae. 

He swallowed thickly at the image of what was left of his pelvis. The left side, where the blast struck with full force, was shattered, completely and entirely. Ilium, pubis, ischium—each cracked and broken down into useless parts. Sacrum, mostly intact, salvageable, but he would never walk again. Not with the way his femur had been twisted and snapped into near disintegration. 

He should have been devastated. Should have felt something like fear or sadness. Should have felt unimaginable pain. Shouldn't have even lived. But he was there, awake, breath unburdened and bones uncast. He could move his toes and turn his head.

He frowned and glanced to another set of x-rays. These exactly the same, save for the lack injury. His spine intact and his hip functional. His body was miraculously healed and fixed and sound. 

Slowly, testing, he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed so that he could place his bare feet on the chilled tile floor. His leg could take the weight as he carefully stood, there was no twinge or spike of pain as there probably should have been. It was almost like there had been no injury at all. He took another look at the images staring back. 

Tucked against the corner of the board was a small business card. As stiffly he moved closer he could see it marked with a single letter, an L, written in a deep green ink so dark that it was nearly black. 

He smirked and huffed out a small laugh. Some people only brought flowers.

Back, on the otherwise empty bedside chair sat a stack of clothes, spares from his office. His smirk slipped away and he nodded--the rest of the world wasn't going to wait for him. He set to work righting himself once more.

Outside, the hall was nearly empty. A nurse passing to the left, voices to the right. He frowned at the angry, harsh tones that echoed up the hallway toward him. He slowly followed the sound down around the corner and froze.

Clint was backed into the corner, eyes low and jaw tense. His hands didn't twitch toward the gun at his hip or any weapon within his reach. He wasn't ready to defend himself, wasn't prepared to, he wasn't going to. Whatever they were saying, whatever they were threatening to do, he planned to take it without question or protest.

He ground his teeth as he moved forward and snapped, “Barton, my office. Now.”

His wide eyes snapped up to Nick and he gave a stiff nod, slipping away from the two men. _Flinching_ away from them.

The other two agents looked at him defiantly, a little smug and maybe a little dangerous. 

“Don't you have somewhere to be, Agents?”

They both frowned and shrugged at each other. “Not that I can recall,” said the taller one, unconcerned.

"No, no, I distinctly remember. You're both scheduled for missions today.: Nick feigned a frown at his watch, not at all bothering to hide his disdain, “New recruits down on 4. Better hurry if you don't want to be any later. You know Blake doesn't care for tardiness.”

The smaller man gaped, “Uh, sir, I think you might be—”

“No, no, I'm sure I'm right. Agent Krause and Agent Henry, on 4, three minutes ago,” Nick said moving on down the hallway, Clint in tow. “Unless you think I'm wrong about that.”

He heard nothing else, save the quickly retreating footsteps. 

Beside him, Clint finally spoke up, “You didn't need to do that, sir.”

He raised an eyebrow at the other man, “Were you going to?” When all he received in return was a clenched jaw and deepening frown, Nick shook his head, “I thought you said there was no more hostility from any of the other agents.”

“What I said was that I could handle it.”

“Yeah? Well I can't,” he ground out, leading them into the elevator. He leaned back against the wall, frowning at the other man, “What were they saying this time? Same old tune?”

Clint rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, “More or less.”

“How much more?”

Clint didn't speak, only glanced off to the side, pretending to watch the ground as it fell away. 

Nick stayed silent the rest of the ride, that sudden flash of anger beginning to slip away. He wasn't angry at Clint, couldn't possibly be. But he was angry for him, certainly. Disappointed. He'd heard the threats before, just after New York. He knew what must have been said.

When the doors slid open, Clint wordlessly followed him out and down the hall to his office, eyes low and shoulders slumped. Defeated.

“I thought we talked about this,” Nick said with a sigh, watching as the younger man instinctively moved to stand at the window. 

“You talked about this.”

“And you what? Pretended to listen? You can't keep letting them do this, Clint,” he said, moving to his side. He shook his head and glanced out over the city, wondering briefly what all Clint saw out there. “You don't deserve that.”

“Sure I do,” he said with an ugly laugh. “How many did I kill? How many deaths am I directly responsible for?”

“Clint—”

“Ninety-six. That's how many people died, on the helicarrier alone, because of me. Do you want to know how many more? You keep saying that I don't deserve what they say, but I do. I do deserve it and so fucking much more.”

“Clint, for fuck's sake, you couldn't have stopped—” 

“I could have and I didn't. I was me, the whole time. I knew what I was doing and what I chose to do. Glowy blue light or not, I was me. _I_ took those lives.”

“No, you were _aware_ but you were not you. Not remotely,” Nick growled, spinning Clint until he could look him in the eye. “You listen to me. You were not responsible. That, all of that, was the Tesseract. That was a force you stood no chance against.”

“I could've—”

“No, you couldn't.”

Clint shook his head, “Then who is? Loki?”

Nick sighed, “Maybe. Not entirely. More like whoever put that power in his hands.”

“You think he was under the Tesseract's influence, too?”

“So you admit that you were influenced.” When Clint's mouth snapped shut into a grim, hard line, Nick sighed and released him, backing away to lean against the edge of his desk, “I think you are one of the strongest men that I will ever know. And if you couldn't fight it, then who in the hell had any damnable chance?”

Clint bit his lip and closed his eyes for a few seconds before he looked back up at Nick, clouds beginning to clear. “So I was right,” he said. “About Loki. The way he looked at Thor, like he thought he was going to get hit. That card in your room. The injuries.”

Nick shrugged, “I think so. Little hard to tell at this point.”

Clint nodded once and shifted back toward the window. He pressed his forehead against the glass, watching the people on the ground.

“Can you do something for me? Or, at the very least, _try_?” Nick asked, waiting for a nod. “Will you stop measuring your life in the loss of those you had no hope of saving?” He frowned, watching the younger man tense, “Stop acting like the lives of people you saved are worth less.”

“So, what? Just forget them? Don't worry about them?”

He sighed, “You'll never stop worrying and you'll never forget. But you can't base your life around the ones that you couldn't save.”

He turned, and leaned against the window, “What do I do?”

“You keep living,” Nick said, placing a hand on the nape of Clint's neck. “You keep going. You keep saving those that you can and avenge those that you can't. But don't assign value to lives lost. Not any more than those saved.” He tugged him forward, hugged him close, “Life is life, not currency.”

Clint nodded against his shoulder.

“Just... Try, alright?”

Clint pulled away, eyes low and blinking fast, “Alright.”

“That's all I ask,” he said, releasing his hold on the man. “Now get out of here, get out of this place for a few days. Go home and get your head right.”

“Sure,” he said, more to himself. His eyes were still low, but as he headed out of the office he stood a little taller, back a little straighter. 

Nick sighed, heavily. He wished there was some comfort he could offer Clint that the younger man would actually listen to. This moment might last a few hours, maybe 'til he tried to sleep. Until he stared at the shadows on the ceiling and thought about it all until it was marred by more doubt and shame. 

Until he blamed himself again. Until he began to punish himself again. Like always. 

Defeated, Nick stared out the window and turned the card over in his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be better because it's Bruce and he speaks to me. And the chapter after that is mostly done and is pretty much my favourite because someone calls Ncik fury infuriating and it makes me happy in way that I can't put into words.


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! Look what I did! You didn't have to wait several months between chapters! Be happy! Be proud! Validate me!
> 
> I'm completely happy with this chapter. Like, it's my favourite thus far. Bruce speaks to me.
> 
> In any case, then next chapter is close to finished too, but I think I'm going to hang onto it for awhile. I need to edit Chapter 5 because it just feels like an empty out line to me and I need to add a little more. And I want to get some of the later chapters a little bit closer to done instead of just doing one at a time and not really working ahead. It's like homework but with less math.
> 
> EDIT 7/12/15: I had a request for the cocoa recipes included in this chapter my friend was nice enough to post them! Here they are [over on my tumblr](http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/post/112446627108/cocoa-recipes) if you would like to take a gander!

As Nick finally headed into the elevator, he took a last look around the still smoking lab and sighed heavily. Dummy and Butterfingers had cleaned up most of the chemicals and put out the fires and he had righted chairs and tried to sort through what had been left of Bruce's paperwork, but most of the place still looked like a war zone. 

He wasn't sure if it was lucky or not that he had been so close, already on his way to speak with the man, when the explosion happened. He felt bad, having to push Bruce out of the lab but he couldn't stand the idea of the man losing his grip and then losing what was left of his work. And so he'd forced the man out in the hopes that if he did lose himself that it would be in a room—on a floor—that could be replaced, rather than surrounded by samples and data that he had spent years collecting and working on.

In truth, though, he'd mostly just wanted Bruce somewhere safe. In case something else went wrong, some other experiment got knocked askew. 

The elevator doors opened and his first glimpse of the man was his bowed head and tense shoulders. He sat on the couch, facing the windows, bent low and defeated. 

“How are you feelin'?”

He shrugged, “Like an idiot, mostly.”

Nick took a long look at the defeated slump of the man's shoulders and softened. He turned toward the kitchen, “C’mon, Doctor Banner.”

He heaved a sigh and stood. Apprehensive, he slowly followed along and wearily asked, “Where are we headed, Director?”

“Just to the kitchen. No worries,” he slowed to place a warm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, tugging him along. “How do you like white chocolate?” he asked and pushed Bruce toward one of the stools at the breakfast bar. 

“Um, okay I guess?”

Nick smiled, and snooped around the kitchen, looking for his ingredients. As he began piling his finds on the counter, he asked, “You want to tell me what happened?”

“I just... Got distracted, careless.”

He set a pan on the stove and filled it with a cup of milk and a generous splash of cream. As he let the pan warm, he began chopping his bar of chocolate, “That all?”

Bruce shrugged, watching the movement of the knife in Nick's hand, “Bumped the wrong table.”

He tilted the cutting board to slide the chopped white chocolate into the warming liquid. He began to stir it all together and out of the corner of his eye he saw Bruce leaning forward as he watched on, curious. Once it was smooth and free of chunks of chocolate, Nick removed it from the heat, replacing it with a small pan of water. He began arranging the rest of his bowls and cups, finding the bamboo whisk and sifting spoonfuls of matcha. 

“What are you doing?”

“You’re the genius,” Nick smirked as the water began to steam. “What does it look like?”

“You know, I’m not entirely sure,” Bruce said, confusion evident in his voice. 

Nick just chuckled, turning to smile at the man, “Don’t worry, it’ll be good.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed, “I don’t think I like this.”

“You will.”

Bruce looked unconvinced, but stayed silent and merely watched on as Nick poured a small stream of steaming water into the small bowl and quickly stirred the matcha into a froth. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick watched as Bruce raised a hand in aborted protest as he poured the green liquid into the pan and stirred. 

Nick chuckled as he stirred, “Calm down.”

“This all looks and feels very not right.”

He shook his head, amused, as he poured the steaming green cocoa into a mug and passed it over, “Lighten up, Doc. Just trust me and try it.”

“No, but seriously. What is it?” Bruce asked, frowning down at the steaming mug. “Really.”

Nick rolled his eye, and said, firmly, “Just try it. God _damn_ , are you five?”

“I think I resent that,” Bruce mumbled and just continued to frown dubiously at the mug. 

“I don’t care what you think you think.”

The scientist huffed out a laugh and slowly brought the mug to his lips. He cast a wary glance up at Nick and finally took a tiny sip. Bruce hummed into the mug and immediately took a second, longer, sip. His eyes slipped closed, “Oh. _Oh_ , that is nice.”

“Fucking told you.”

Bruce rolled his eyes, “Shut up.” He took another sip and slowly began to relax. 

Nick began to busy himself, clearing away his mess while he waited for Bruce to calm enough to open up. 

“ _Doctor Banner_ ,” JARVIS spoke up, suddenly, “ _Sir has requested that I inform you of his impending arrival. He will be here within the next fifteen minutes._ ”

Bruce couldn’t possibly have rolled his eyes harder if he tried, “Thank you, JARVIS.”

“He’s worried about you,” Nick said as he pulled out a few more ingredients—chocolate milk and butterscotch chips this time.

“He is,” Bruce said. He hummed into the mug once more and licked his lips. He waved a hand around the room, resigned, “It’s not as if he has no reason to be worried.”

“Like the fact that you’re _his friend_ ,” Nick suggested, his tone leaving no room for argument. He found the caramel sauce in the cabinet above the coffee maker and smiled.

Bruce gnawed on his lip, but didn’t speak up.

Nick poured the milk and chips into another sauce pan, letting it heat slowly again. He watched Bruce from the corner of his eye as he stirred, “What was it that set you off tonight?”

“Just… Just the explosion,” he said, quietly. “Though, I may have been a little… _on edge_ recently. I’m certain that did nothing to help.”

“About what?”

He sighed again and scrubbed a hand through his tangled mess of curls, “It’s difficult, after being alone for so long, to just suddenly be surrounded by the other people all the time. When I was on the run, I didn’t have to care about others. I mean, I _did_ , I suppose. Care, that is, about the people I helped and such. But there was no one there with me to have to worry about constantly, you know?”

Nick nodded, “And now you’ve got a family.”

Bruce clutched the warm mug to his chest and looked up at him, looking suddenly so much younger and more broken than he had any right to, “I thought I could live without ever having to care for someone like this. Now I don’t think I could handle losing them.”

“What happened, Bruce?” Nick asked, trying to be gentle.

He bit his lip and glanced away, “Tony, he… tracks Clint and Natasha’s missions for me.”

“I know,” Nick said, offering a small smile. “He’s not nearly as smooth as he wants to believe and we find it easier to just let him look at what he needs. So long was it doesn’t actively interfere with any ongoing missions.”

Bruce nodded and relaxed significantly, “He’s been giving me updates.”

Nick watched on as the cocoa began to steam. “She’ll be alright, Bruce,” he said, stirring slowly. “Her injuries weren't nearly as bad as we had feared.”

“When does she come home?”

“She’ll arrive on the helicarrier in the morning for debrief. I promise we’ll have her home before lunch.”

He blew out a deep sigh as what must have been weeks of pent-up worry and fear seeped away, “Okay. Yeah, that’s good. Nothing to worry about.” 

“Nothing at all,” Nick agreed with a small smile and stirred a small spoonful of cocoa into the pan. “She’s perfectly fine, Bruce.”

“I know,” he said and bent forward to rest his cheek on the cool counter top. “I can be cool, yeah? Nothing to worry about. I can be like Tony; I can just brush things off. Everythings fine and there isn't anything to worry about.”

“I think it’s safe to say that he’s far more worried than you think,” Nick said, pulling a new mug from the cabinet. “How long has he been giving you updates?”

“A few months. Since Brazil.”

Nick winced and nodded—fucking Brazil. “Tony has been tracking their missions like this since before he even finished reconstruction on the Tower,” he said. He gave a shrug, “Probably even before Loki. I think he knew Natasha was being sent for you before she did. Probably even before Phil knew.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, just raised his head from the counter. He gnawed at his lip and followed Nick’s movements, “What are you making now?”

“Stark’ll be here momentarily,” Nick said and poured a little of the caramel into the bottom of the new mug. “Do you honestly expect him to sit idly by while you enjoy your own, personal, cup of cocoa?”

Bruce chuckled, “I suppose not.”

Nick worked in silence, all the while watching as Bruce finished off his cocoa and began the slow process of relaxing. The tension slowly began to unfurl from his shoulders until he was slumped sleepily against the counter top, counting down the moments until Tony arrived.

Not ten minutes after JARVIS' initial warning, he practically flew into the room, eyes searching out Bruce’s, “Hey buddy. How ya feelin’?”

Nick smiled at Bruce’s amused eye roll, “I’m fine, you dumb ass. Did you leave the instant JARVIS told you?”

“Yes,” Tony said, slipping into the seat at Bruce’s side, worry creasing his brow.

Nick placed the mug in front of the billionaire and nudged it carefully into his hands, smiling softly when he absently clutched the warmth to his chest in much the same manner that Bruce had. Tony didn't pay much mind to him, or to anything that wasn't Bruce as he narrowed his considerable focus in on his friend. 

“I am fine, you know,” Bruce said, earnestly.

“Are you?”

“I’m not going to break, Tony.”

He sighed and nudged Bruce's shoulder with his own and shot him a soft smile, “I know.”

Nick slipped quietly out, letting them have a quiet moment to themselves. Bruce needed the comfort that only Tony could give and he just felt in the way. Besides, with the kitchen cleared and both scientists on the way toward calm, there was really nothing left for him to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BTW, that cocoa? That is a thing that my friend showed me and it is my favourite thing in the whole world ever and I am including Paul Simon in that category.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so... I want to justify some of the things I did here, but I am not going to for reasons and plans and things that will happening in future chapters. So, there. I guess.
> 
> I was totally planning on sitting on this chapter for a little while. Mostly because it's getting to the busy season at work and I want to have something to post over the summer when I won't have time to write at all. That was the plan anyway, but I have no self control. The chapter was done, I panicked. So, here.
> 
> I did put it in the tags up top, but I feel I should warn again for the mentions of suicide and suicide ideation.

“Just what is it you think you're doing, Loki?”

He turned sharply away from the building's edge, clearly surprised. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“Your appearance set off the alarms downstairs.”

The demi-god frowned and turned away with lowered eyes. Something in his demeanour changed then, though Nick couldn’t quite place it.

“They’re downstairs, suiting up. I told them to take it slow.”

Loki glanced up, brow furrowed, “Why?”

Nick nodded to his left, toward the security camera mounted on the wall. Loki followed the movement and deflated a little more at the sight, as if he hadn't meant to be found. “It didn’t look like you were doing any actual villainy,” he said, stepping forward. “So, I thought I might see if you felt like talking.”

“About what?” Loki asked voice quiet.

“About what you’re doing up here.”

A wall ran along the edge of the tower, meant to keep anyone from plummeting over the side of the building, and Loki stood atop it. He turned his attention back to the city below, green eyes flitting across the roof tops and busy streets, wind whipping at his dark hair. “Would I die, do you think? If I fell from this height and took no action to stop it?” he asked at last, shoulders dropping slightly. 

“Fell or jumped?” Nick asked, inching closer to the ledge.

“Is there a difference?” Loki asked and seemed to sink just a little bit further in on himself.

“Do you want there to be?”

Green eyes flicked to him again, “I really don't know.”

Nick looked out over the city, “Why here?”

“Do you see a taller ledge?”

Nick smirked reluctantly, though it didn't last for long. He didn't like the look of Loki, the sick bruises beneath his eyes and the sicklier pallor of his skin. His shoulders hung low with an invisible, mighty weight and he swayed ever so slightly on his unsteady feet. 

On his ledge, far above the busy city, Loki closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Will you at least tell me why I have to watch you kill yourself? Will you give me that, Loki?” Nick asked. 

“You needn’t watch, Director.”

“Get the fuck down from there, Loki.”

The god flinched, casting a deathly glare down at him, “Why do care, Director? Would it not be easier for me to be out of the way?”

Nick baulked, “Is _that_ your reasoning? That it would be _easier_?”

For a moment Loki tensed so hard and so fast that he shook, but it passed and he was left relaxed and limp in defeat once more. “When I close my eyes the city…” He trailed off and cast a searching glance out across the buildings and streets, “She burns, Director. Still, she burns. When I close my eyes, this city still smokes and burns and _screams_ and she will not stop. Like an afterimage I can’t rid myself of.” Loki met his eyes once more, “I grow weary of her screams, Director.”

“Loki, come away from the edge,” Nick said and knew full well how he must have sounded. How clear the desperate edge to his voice must have been. “Please, Loki.”

“Why? Please, tell me why I should withdraw,” Loki demanded, cool wind whipping at his hair. “Am I not a monster? Have I not tried to destroy this city—this _realm_ —and your home? I have done nothing, upon my return to this place, but you cause trouble and nearly kill yourself and Thor. You should be glad of this, for I am finally doing something right.”

“ _Fuck_ that,” Nick ground out, vehemently. “Get your ass down here, Loki. You’ve served your time, right?” he demanded, waiting for a sharp nod from the young god. “What happened to me, what nearly happened to Thor, was an accident, and we all know it, so don’t you _dare_ throw yourself off this damned tower because of _that_.”

“And how will you stop me, hmm? Can you even?”

Nick growled, and pulled himself onto the ledge, “Fine, you little shit. You jump, _I_ jump. That work for you?”

Loki looked almost alarmed, “What are you doing, you imbecile?”

“Oh look at that,” Nick gave the stubborn god his biggest, sharpest grin. “Now you fucking get how ridiculous this whole fucking thing is!”

“I am a monster—”

“You are a man, Loki,” Nick yelled, cutting him off. “You are not divine or infallible, you are a _man_ , god though you may be. You made mistakes, and I’m willing to believe that good old Odin has seen to it that you’ve paid for them plenty.”

“But, I have killed—”

“So have I! And so has Stark and Captain Rogers _and_ your brother. Killing isn’t so uncommon as you seem to think it is, Loki.”

“But, I—”

“What happened downtown? All of those robots? All of that shit? That was an accident, remember? Thor knows that, I know that, and you _should_ damn well know that.”

“I do, but—”

“Then why the fuck are we still standing here arguing?”

Loki growled, glaring daggers back at him, “You are _infuriating_!”

“I fucking know!” Nick hollered back into his furiously pale face. He motioned back toward the safe part of the roof, “Are you going to get down now, or do I need to keep fucking yelling?”

Beneath them, the building shook as Thor landed, face hard. Loki flinched back and opened his mouth as lightning flashed overhead, but his words were lost in a fearful gasp and the ensuing clap of thunder as his foot slipped and he began to fall backward. Nick, before he could think much more than _No_ , gripped that wretched leather armour and hauled him back, flung him toward safety and Thor. 

Perhaps he over corrected, threw Loki to hard or leaned to far back, because he caught one glimpse of Loki stumbling to his knees on the flat of the roof top and then he was falling. Above him, the ledge fell away and lightning crackled across the sky. 

He closed his eyes.

And, by all rights, that should have been it. But, over the roar of the wind against his ears, the sound of repulsors. A heavy metal arm closed around his waist. 

The attempt was there, certainly, to slow their decent, rather than jerk to a sudden stop, but there wasn't enough time for that. He wrapped his arms around the cool metal and braced himself, but it wasn't much help. As Iron Man turned them away from the quickly rising ground, Nick felt his ribs give under the sudden force, crack where he jostled against the unforgiving metal. 

They hit the ground with another sharp jolt and Nick stumbled away as soon as he was released, cursing between shuddering breaths. He braced himself against the foot of the tower.

“Christ, are you alright?”

“Sh _it_!” Nick gasped and coughed, “I'll be fine. I need you to get back up there.”

“No.” Metal hands rested at his shoulders, firm and heavy, “C’mon. You need to get up to medical.”

He batted at Iron Man’s hands, “Get off, I’ll be f-fine.” He wheezed and pressed a hand to his ribs, “I’ll be fine, but I need you up there _now_.”

“Fuck that, you’re—”

“Stark, get the fuck up there and keep Thor from killing Loki.”

“No! He threw you off the top of my tower! Thor can do whatever the hell he wants.”

“I fell, Stark.”

“Yeah, no shit! I fucking noticed!”

“For fuck’s sake, Loki was going to jump!” Nick yelled. He struggled to his feet and flung a hand toward the sky where thunder boomed, “He startled when Thor landed and nearly slipped. _I_ slipped when I pulled him back. He didn’t push me. Get up there _now_ and keep him from getting killed.”

“Fury—”

“I fell off of a building saving that little shit, the least you could do is make sure it fucking sticks!” Nick exclaimed. A sudden flare of pain had him gasping and shuddering.

“You need medical fucking he—”

“Tony, get the fuck up there,” he wheezed out, straightening. The image of Loki frozen in fear, as he watched the blast head straight at Thor, came unbidden to him. Green eyes bright with pure _terror_. “That’s where I need you to be right now, alright? Keep Thor from killing his brother. _Please_.”

Iron Man stared back at him for a few moments, then nodded once, stiffly, and shot into the sky. 

Nick allowed himself to sag heavily against the wall, drained. Rain started to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can bother or complain to me over on tumblr if you want: http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to start this chapter off by thanking my friend Sam for helping me with the Russian. 
> 
> No, wait, let me rephrase... I would like to not thank my friend Sam for helping me with the Russian by telling me, “Hell if I remember, google it.”
> 
> There was supposed to be way more in this chapter bu I gave up because she is a butt.
> 
> I'm gonna say this right now, this chapter wasn't even blocked out by and definition when I got up this morning. I just had a vague idea of what would happen and then I started writing it and got steadily more drunk as I did so. This may well be awful. 
> 
> If it is, don't be too mean to me. I'm soft. Like pudding.
> 
> EDIT 5/31/15: Massive, huge, heartfelt thanks to [OzMaBa](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OzMaBa/pseuds/OzMaBa) for correcting the Russian! You are the best!

He skidded around the corner, sprinting down the long hallway as fast as he could manage. He tried to remember the way, tried to recall the schematics that Maria had brought up in the briefing, but running— _fleeing_ , really—for one's life wasn't so good on one's memory. 

Twenty metres, sharp left, continue on down the South-West corridor. 

He couldn't hear footfalls behind him, but he knew she was there. He remembered the snap of attention and recognition in her eyes. She was coming for him.

Up ahead was the main hall, a 9 metre wide slash straight through his path, filled to the brim with a mess of slowly evacuating people. Scientists, some civilians, few soldiers. As long as they didn't point a weapon at her they would be safe, so he paid them little mind as he threw himself into the throng. They would be safe so long as he could get through and away quickly.

Cut across the main hall, continue down the South-West corridor for fifteen metres.

They were all speaking and crying out in a language that he'd never bothered to learn, all rushing this way and that, confused. Hands pushed and pulled and him, go this way go that, where are we going, what is happening. It made hell to wade through, cut precious seconds off of his chances. Not that he'd had many to begin with.

He remembered rushing into the room as the air cleared, calling out to her. She'd looked at him with unfocused, feverish eyes. It gave him pause. She'd cocked her head, slightly, and narrowed her eyes.

He burst out of the crowd, stumbling slightly, and kept running. 

Second right, sharp left, sharp right. 

He hoped upon hope that he could at least make it to the roof. Transport was there, waiting. Someone would be waiting there—last he heard through the coms, if would be Clint—if he could make that far then there would be someone to stop her before she could escape. Maybe someone to save him, but he had seen the look in her eyes. He didn't hold out all that much hope.

At the end of the hallway, take the stairs.

The way she'd looked at him told him exactly what had happened. She wasn't Natasha, not Black Widow, not anything. The drug had done whatever it had been meant to, erased her. He didn't try to hazard a guess as to when she would recover.

A few feet and then the worst part. He doubted very much if he would be able to survive her in the cramped space of the stairwell. Hell, he wouldn't be able to take her in the open, not unless he had and gun and she was standing still.

He ripped open the door as a knife flew over his shoulder and embedded itself in the thin metal. 

He took the stairs three at a time, trying desperately to put as much space between them as he could. He had seconds to get to the roof, and not nearly enough of them. He wasn't running out of time, he was just running. Time was out.

Below him the door slammed open and light steps rushed to follow him.

Climb three flights, exit through the roof top door.

He remembered the understanding in her eyes. She recognized him, but only his face. She didn't remember a name or a past. No Avengers, no SHIELD. She was running on a drug fuelled haze and long long forgotten programming. Muscle memory. She'd said something in Russian, a quick mess of words from which he could only make out one: цель. _Target_.

She tensed, ready to pounce, and said another word with a quick quirk of her lips.

He'd turned and fled.

беги, she'd said.

_Run._

Nick flew up the stairs. If he could get to the roof, she could be stopped. Barton could knock her out, he knew how she fought. If any of them stood a chance of taking her down without having to put a bullet in her, it would be him. 

Two flights to go. 

A white hot knife slammed into his shoulder and his legs were swept out from under him. He sucked in a breath, dazed from the impact. He'd landed hard, chest slamming into the last step of the next landing, chin cracking against the floor. He felt breath on the back of his neck as knife was yanked from his shoulder.

He threw his head back, knocking harshly into hers, threw an elbow back into her gut, hard enough to knock her back and down to the landing behind. He scrambled to his feet and surged on, ignoring the flaring pain and the blood dripping down his arm.

One flight. 

Behind him, she muttered something in Russian, and a sharp pain erupted through his left leg. He toppled, slamming face first into the heavy door. He didn't look as he reached to pull the blade free, not bothering to muffle any exclamation of pain.

Behind him, he could hear her coming, pulling herself over the railing. He fumbled for the door handle. 

The pain was extraordinary.

He was slammed against the door with enough force to knock it open, sending him sprawling across the rooftop and knocking the wind and the fight from him. He could hardly breathe, sucking in breaths of hot, dry air as he struggled to rise. He was blinking zeros, time having run out before she'd even laid eyes on him.

Something was cracked, maybe his spine, maybe just his ribs. He could hear her coming up behind him, slow and steady. No rush, he wouldn't be going anywhere. 

Blearily, he blinked up at the empty Quinjet, no sign of Clint or anyone. Alone. He sagged, coughing and choking on the breaths that he couldn't quite take. Maybe he could distract her for a few more moments, hold her off for just a little bit longer. 

A few feet away, he could see the knife he'd pulled from his thigh, still wet with his blood. If he could reach it, maybe he could buy a few moments and someone would show up. 

She must have followed his gaze. A knife, hot as the summer air, pinned his hand to the soft, scorching pitch. He couldn't get enough breath to make a sound.

She stepped over him, and knelt, knees pressing in his shoulders, pinning him. Her arm slithered beneath his chin and he knew what was about to happen. She had no gun and knives were messy, quick and clean. No muss, no fuss. He closed his eyes a waited. 

Behind him, she grunted and jerked.

“Get up, Tash.”

She growled, fingers tightening on the back of his head, cursing.

“I mean it, Tasha. Get up.”

If Nick could do much more than gasp for breath, he would have sagged with relief. In his peripherals, he could see Clint slowly step forward, circling them, gun raised.

She rose, slowly, and backed away.

“You alright?”

He nodded, still coughing and trying to catch his breath. 

Clint knelt and pulled the knife from his hand, “What happened?”

He pressed his face into his outstretched arm and gasped out a breathless, “She's been drugged,” before dissolving into another coughing fit.

Clint tensed, gun still trained on her, “Orders?”

“Keep her safe,” he wheezed, struggling to stay awake. 

Clint gave a sharp nod and was gone.

Nick sucked in breaths as deep as he could, still coughing and wheezing against the hot tar roof top. Behind him, he could hear them scuffle, quick movements and sharp jabs. He could imagine them, twisting and spinning in a frenzy of blocked hits, each too quick for the other to get a shot in. 

That's how they fought, quick and precise, always learning changing adapting. He envied them.

He listened to them fight, a battle of matched hits and matched skill, and closed his eyes as the hot sun beat down on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you see a mistake or sometime, point it out and I'll take care of it when I'm sober.
> 
> If you know Russian and got it wrong, let me know. I'm not so good with the googling of things. 
> 
> If you have a question or some such, ask quick while I'm still drunk and will answer anything to an extent.
> 
> Feel free to bother me on tumblr as I check that more often, even when I'm busy for reasons of sanity: http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/


	10. NOTE 11-26-15

Okay, first, I am not Al, vonherder, or whatever else she goes by around these parts. My name is Jay and I am her _Delete My Internet History If I Die, Update My Blog If I Go To Prison_ person.

Second, she is NOT dead! I promise! Nor is she incarcerated. She is, however, in the hospital still at the moment. The reason you're all just getting an update now is because I had not been given express permission by either her or her family to put any information out there. But she did just give me the go ahead and she did approve this message.

Okay, so, this past August Al was in a pretty bad wreck. Right side of her body got a bit knocked about, but it wasn't _bad_ bad; broken wrist/hand, dislocated shoulder and a few cracked ribs. All things considered, she got off easy. So that was all fine, she was recovering pretty well, she'd been dictating new chapters and junk to her boyfriend so she could just jump in and start posing stuff once she could type and edit again.

And then they got into another car accident.

Al spent two and a half weeks in a coma, on top of quite a few more broken bones and other injuries. So far there have been no signs of any lasting brain trauma, so she should make a full recovery. She's doing good, hasn't lost any memories that we've noticed, she's sharp and she's been keeping all of her story lines/details straight as she and Dave go through everything. That being said, coming out of a coma sucks balls and piling injury on top of injury doesn't do anyone any good, so physical recovery is taking some time.

BUT. As I mentioned above, she and her boyfriend—Dave, you may talk to him some in the future—have been sort of writing more things (she's been talking and he's been scribbling furiously in notebooks) so he and I are going to work together to get it all typed up so it is easier for Al to edit and junk. 

So, a three person team will be furiously working on things for the foreseeable future and hopefully we can get you some updates soon like she had been trying to do before shit hit the car. Dave and I are both writers/reporters for the same newspaper, so it isn't like she's getting inexperienced help, but... Neither of us write fiction and neither of us are even remotely certain how to operate this site—but he's been exploring so hopefully we don't screw anything up—so if you have any quick tips, they would be welcome. Dave himself is apparently super into The Man From UNCLE, so he has started his first foray into fanfiction—fiction in general, actually—by starting a story somewhere on the kink meme thing and getting Al's mildly amused input on it as he goes along and it is super adorable. Starting slow, but at least we're starting something, right? 

Dave has been compiling a huge list of things for her to read/have read to her while she's stuck in bed, but if you have any recs she says that you are all totally welcome to send them along also—in any fandom or pairing, just anything you think she'd like or enjoy.

If you need to reach either of us for any reason, after today I think it has been decided that Dave will take over the inbox here and I will head up watching over her tumblr account—I've been doing really well considering I spent most of September forgetting which blog I was on and updating hers instead of my own because I don't pay attention, more fool me. We'll try to keep updating as she goes along and I'm going to, if possible, leave this note up until she's back on her own—is there a way to do that when you add a chapter here? I can't tell.

I'm putting this note on all three of her unfinished stories here, if there is anywhere else I need to put it, let me know. I could have missed something.

PERTINENT NEWS!

1) When I finally figure out how to read Dave's handwriting and add a new chapter to _You'll have such a nice surprise_ , it will be under a new title, she just hasn't told me what that will be yet. I will have both an edited first chapter and a completely new 2nd chapter to add once she approves and nit picks anything that I fucked up on whilst typing.

2) Al had been working on editing all of the existing chapters of _At least I then I could be bitter_ before the crash, so I believe that is the main thing she and Dave are going to continue working on as she figures out where to go with it.

3) No significant news for _Down from the divide_. That mess—goddamn, Dave, learn how to write print because you're cursive sucks—is next after I parse through and get Al's approval on _YHSANS_.

So, I think that is everything—and, wow, way longer than I had intended. Anything immediate, I will be glued to this computer for the next 10 or so hours. I believe she has anonymous asks on her tumblr. If not, I will allow those for the time being. Tumblr: http://alderevonherder.tumblr.com/

If you have any love to send her, Dave and I will be in and out pretty much constantly so she should get an update of your messages almost every day.

I think that's is it for the moment, off to work now. Just hit us up, we'll answer everything as best we can or we'll ask Al when we next see her.


End file.
